


(re)spite

by pseudocitrus



Category: Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Ghoul:re
Genre: Angst, Drinking, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Blood, Smut, Some Nishiki/Kimi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 14:18:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3613149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudocitrus/pseuds/pseudocitrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Anteiku raid, Touka and Nishiki drift and change but stay together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(re)spite

**Author's Note:**

> continuing the “SHIP TOUKA WITH EVERYONE” train with more inspiration from [fangirlingforeverz](http://fangirlingforeverz.tumblr.com/) and [tanagers](http://yaboyshinsuke.co.vu/) ♥♫
> 
> hope you're having a good day; enjoy!

For days, Touka visits the wreckage. She passes through and stands and sits from various perspectives, hood drawn almost to her nose. She watches as the walls and tables and menus are crushed into dust. She watches as their “tainted” stock is thrown away or dismantled, including their coffee beans and their perfectly functional old espresso machine.

Sometimes she sits at restaurants beside the rubble being cleared away; sometimes she pretends to read a magazine, or pretends to browse on her phone. She waits, and waits, and finally, she catches the eye of someone that she recognizes. It takes everything in her to not race after him right there, to not scream _Don’t go!_ when he leaves.

They don’t exchange so much as a single word, but they find each other later, in his old hunting grounds.

“About fucking time,” Nishiki mutters. “Why are you always late?”

“I’m not always late, you piece of shit,” Touka snaps, and jams her palms against her eyes to cover them as they begin to sting with relief.

:::

Things between them had never really been comprehensible, much less particularly warm. Even so, they have a certain understanding of each other that transcends the bitter words that make up the majority of their communication. Though it means a greater chance of being recognized as ex-employees of “the ghoul cafe,” they agree to meet now and again. Whenever they do, she makes the requisite asks about Kimi, and he gives reassurances about Kaneki and the rest. Neither of them bother telling the other that platitudes are unnecessary.

Just talking is enough. For Touka, their honest conversations are her only outlet, now that Yomo speaks even more rarely than he did before. As for Yoriko — her contact information was destroyed ages ago, when Touka reaped her cellphone of its keychain and stomped it into pieces. Touka is too afraid to find her again.

“She knew that I worked at Anteiku,” Touka explains quietly. Nishiki hands her a can of coffee, and then cracks one open for himself and sips, leaning back in his chair.

“Maybe she’d understand,” he says.

“Right,” Touka snorts. She opens the can, then takes a big gulp and sighs. “Even if she did…I…don’t want to wrap her up in this whole thing.”

“’This whole thing?’”

“This whole... _our_ whole thing. As ghouls. Ugh! Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean.”

She pauses, and then adds, quietly: “If anyone deserves to live a normal life, it’s Yoriko.”

Nishiki frowns, and looks down at his can.

“Yeah,” he says finally, and that’s the last exchange they have that day.

:::

As the months pass, they drift further and further from who they used to be, and yet manage to stay near to each other. Nishiki raises his brow at her colored hair, but says nothing; and she says nothing, too, about the stories she’s heard of _Serpent_ , and the terrifying lash of his tail.

She says nothing, anyway, until she hears that Serpent has been granted an S-rank.

“Will you _quit_ already?”

This time they’re in :re, an hour before opening. Touka tries to continue, but Nishiki begins grinding beans, shutting her out. As he helps himself to making his own espresso, Touka tries again.

“An _S-rank_? They’ll be looking into you now! Nishiki, are you listening to me? _Nishiki_.”

She whacks his shoulder, and, finally, his gaze slides toward her.

“If they start hunting you, how long will it be until they find Kimi?” Touka demands, and Nishiki snaps, “I broke up with her, alright?”

“You — what?”

“I broke up with her! I threw her away! So she could have her own fucking _normal life_. A life where she doesn’t have to be worried about betraying her asshole boyfriend or finding out that he bled out on a street corner. A life where she’s a little farther from being turned into — a _monster_ by some Dove or Aogiri goon.”

He’s allowed the pour to go on for so long that the espresso is far past the proper line. For the first time, Touka realizes that his hands are shaking so much that coffee is threatening to spill from the cup completely, and she takes it away from him, and lays it in the sink.

Things between them had never really been comprehensible, much less particularly warm. Even so, she lights a hand on his shoulder, only to have him shrug her off fiercely.

“Don’t say anything,” he tells her, slowly. Like he is mustering effort for every word. “Don’t.”

She doesn’t.

“I just need you to do one thing for me,” he says, and reaches into his coat pocket, and hands her his phone. His hand, when it brushes hers, is cold.

Touka takes the phone from him, carefully. Then she drops it on the ground and stomps on it with the heel of her shoe, over and over, until its frame splits in half. Until the rubble of it is no more different than the rubble of Anteiku. Until the shards of its screen are no longer large or bright enough to reflect her useless face that is somehow still alive while everyone else is dead.

When she finishes, her pulse is fast, and she’s somewhat out of breath. She fishes a napkin from her apron pocket.

Nishiki breathes — slow — once in, and once out. Then he helps her sweep the mess up, and leaves.

:::

He texts Touka the contact information of his new phone, but they don’t talk again after that, for months. No words are exchanged between them, but on _that day_ , they find each other again, where _it_ once was. From a second-floor restaurant across the street, they can see the bare, fenced-off lot that is all that remains of it.

“Didn’t even have the fucking decency to put anything else there,” Nishiki hisses beneath his breath.

“What would they bother putting there anyway? Some human cafe where the coffee tastes like it’s extracted from literal shit?” Touka mutters.

They go on like that the whole time they choke down absolutely hideous hamburger steaks. Their bitterness breaks only when the waitress asks them if they’d like a dessert menu, to which Touka chirps an affirmative; and then they’re at it again, throwing insults at everything and everyone, from the rain to the city to the Doves to Aogiri to the strawberry milkshake slop they’re spooning into their mouths.

It feels nice. It’s just like old times, with the exception that they’re avoiding abusing each other. The mere calendar date is doing a fine job of that on its own, adding special weight to the boulder of memories and regret that they spend every day rolling uphill by themselves.

It’s better, at least, to see someone else with the same boulder once in a while. Marginally better. But, better.

They exhaust their conversation, and force their eyes away from the lot.

“Come by the cafe for a bit,” Touka says, not looking at him.

“No thanks. I’ve got stuff to do. Important, S-rank ghoul stuff. Anyway, didn’t you say :re’s closed today?”

“It is. Come by anyway,” Touka says, more firmly. Nishiki’s brow raises and she makes a sharp shrug. “I just have a present for you there.”

“Wow, that’s sentimental of you,“ he remarks dryly. “You know it’s nowhere near my birthday, right?”

“Nishiki, can you for once act in a way that doesn’t make me want to kill you, and just come along?”

“Fine,” he says. “So long as I can throw up in your toilet.”

“You can do whatever you want to the cafe toilet.”

They pay, and leave, and are silent the whole way back. Touka can tell he’s trying to figure out what kind of trick she has planned for him, but keeps it secret until they void their stomachs and wash out their mouths. When she hands it over, she knows by his face when she gives it to him that none of his suspicions were even close.

“Wine,” he realizes, turning the half-sized bottle over in his hands. “Real wine.”

Wine that is actually drinkable by them, he means. He’s surprised, even a little delighted. “I always wanted to try this,” he says, smiling. “How did you —”

He stops, abruptly. Touka turns away before she can see his expression. She hears him swallow.

And then she hears the thunk of the bottle as he sets it down on the counter, hard.

“Hey! _Careful_ ,” Touka tells him, but Nishiki ignores her. He’s rummaging around the cafe drawers.

“Give me something to open this with,” he says, and Touka opens a drawer opposite the ones he was searching and tosses it to him. He catches it, and makes quick work of the cork, and sets two mug cups on the counter and pours until the liquid is a centimeter high.

“You don’t need to waste it on me,” Touka protests.

“What, so you think I should just drink the whole thing myself?”

He holds out a mug to her. Touka looks at it, and then takes it, examining the contents, swishing it around. It’s a deep, viscous scarlet. She glances up.

“Cheers,” she says, and Nishiki taps his mug against hers.

“Cheers.”

They drink, and suppress coughs at the surprising burn of the wine in their throat. Nishiki fills their mugs again, this time two centimeters high. It’s when their third drink is successfully down that he has enough gall to ask, “How did she look?

“Touka,” Nishiki says, when she ignores him. “How did she look? Did she look happy?”

“Yeah,” Touka murmurs. “She looked great.”

As great as anyone could look when it’s clear they’ve been crying for weeks. Kimi had practically burst into tears the moment she saw Touka, and Touka had been too surprised to even attempt pretending that she had no idea who Kimi was.

_“I understand why,”_ Kimi had said, voice shaking. _“I kn-know why we had to...so I won’t ask you where he is. But please, please. Can you please just give him something for me?”_

“She looked happy,” Touka asserts. “She was smiling.”

She’s referring specifically to the moment when Touka agreed to Kimi’s request, and not the tears and desperate hug that follow afterward. There’s no reason that Nishiki could know this, but his eyes narrow, and he finishes his fourth drink with a gulp. He reaches for the bottle again, and before he can grab it Touka snatches it away.

“You’ve had enough,” she tells him. Nishiki’s eyes flare, and for a second she sees not Nishiki but Serpent.

“Give it back.”

“No way. I’ll keep it here and you can come back some other time to have some more.”

“Give it back, Touka. It’s _mine_.”

She glares. He tries again, scratching his head furiously — a true sign of frustration, from a guy who normally likes his hair just so.

“Touka, please. Today’s different.” His voice softens; his eyes glitter. “Just today, just for today. Today I just…Kimi, and Anteiku. I just — I haven’t been feeling well, and I really need to —”

“I don’t care,” Touka snaps. “I’m not going to take pity on you just because you’re sad. Everyone else has problems too. Find a different way to deal with it.”

Even on normal days they only have a thin film of sympathy for each other, and the drunken buzz crawling over them both destroys it completely. Nishiki’s fists clench and for one moment Touka thinks _He’s going to attack me_ and prepares herself to fire her kagune to retaliate.

But he doesn’t strike. Not the way she expects.

“Kaneki Ken is dead.”

Her blood goes cold. “Wh... _what_?”

“You heard me.” Nishiki’s voice is a hiss. “He’s dead. Kaneki Ken is dead.”

Touka feels a tear roll down her cheek. She swipes it away, horrified, and is even more horrified by the weakness of her voice when she stammers, “Sh-shut up.”

“No. He’s dead, _Touka-chan_.” Serpent is merciless. “He isn’t coming back for you. I saw it myself. He’s gone, for good.”

“F- _fuck you_ —”

“Yeah, you're welcome. For a long time I wasn’t sure how to tell you that _Kaneki Ken is dead_ , but, you know, you might as well hear it from your best friend than from a Dove. Kaneki Ken is dead. Stop waiting. Stop hoping. Or else that lab rat Dove squad leader is going to turn you into a shitty little suitcase.”

He waits for her returning volley, but it doesn’t come. His words have stabbed her too deep, and drained out the little bit of life that she had been relying on just to get through this single day. Nishiki realizes his mistake when Touka’s trembling hand begins to pour more wine into their mugs.

_“_ Touka — _shit_ —”

“You’re right,” she says in a low voice. “Today is different. Today’s special. We should celebrate.”

She hands him his mug again, which is filled to the brim with all the wine that’s left. Nishiki rubs his forehead.

“No, I —”

“Take it.”

“Listen, I’m sorry, I —”

_“Take it,_ ” she snarls, jerking her hand so sharply that wine splashes on her wrist and onto the floor. He shakes his head and Touka pushes the cup against his chest, once, twice, still spilling, and Nishiki smacks his hand against the cup and it goes flying, and shatters. The wine pools, and both of them are in tears now, at the incredible waste of it all, at the uselessness, at the ridiculous agony of wounds that are years old and yet hurt even worse than the day they were made.

Nishiki grabs Touka’s hand before she can reach for the wine bottle again — and Touka does the same to him. Their fingers intertwine, and they stumble awkwardly, trying to avoid stepping on the puddle of wine. They fail, and trip, dizzily; Touka winces as her back slams against the wall, and winces again as Nishki’s body pushes up against hers. His elbows and knees bang against her, but he straightens, and then he just feels soft, and hot, beneath his jacket.

Things between them had never really been comprehensible, much less particularly warm. Even so, they have a certain understanding of each other that transcends the bitter words that make up the majority of their communication. Touka’s mouth drops open, slightly, not in shock. And Nishiki kisses it, all desperation and inhales and teeth.

What Touka chose as the uniform for :re is not too different than the uniforms at Anteiku. Nishiki removes her vest, and undoes the top buttons of her shirt, and pushes her bra impatiently over her breasts so they are free for him to lick and suck. They’re smaller than Kimi’s, but just as soft; they fit easily into his palms and he squeezes and laps hungrily at her nipples until they’re stiff enough for him to nibble. Touka gasps and shakes and her back arches against the wall. Her hands flail, trying to stabilize; one grips his hair, and Nishiki frowns and shakes his head until it’s dislodged.

“Vain asshole,” she mutters, breathlessly. She tries and fails to find purchase on anything else, and Nishiki huffs in frustration and turns her around completely, pressing her body against the wall.

“Happy?” he demands.

“I-it’s cold,” she manages with a grumble.

“Well, not for long.” Nishiki reaches around her waist and begins undoing her belt and pants, and slides his hand into the slack of the hem, directly into her underwear. Touka gasps — her hands fist — her forehead pushes against the wall. Nishiki’s fingers roll circles in the flesh around her clit, slide with even rhythm against her moistening sex. He avoids touching or penetrating either, though, and when Touka bucks her hips impatiently he sets his hands around her waist and tugs her back, so she’s bent over almost double, elbows braced to the wall. His hands leave her for an instant to fumble with his own clothing, and she uses the time to shove her pants and underwear down to her knees.

“Now?” he asks, Touka gasps, “Now, yes, now,” and he enters, cautious at first, and then fast, to match the pace of her loud gasps.

They don’t take pity on each other just because they’re sad. Everyone else has problems too. And this way of dealing — with the bite of Nishiki’s nails in her hips, and Touka’s body quivering and swallowing him up — gives them so much of what they actually want. Heat everywhere that there is cold. Relief from loneliness. The feeling of another person near, someone who knows, someone who understands. And contact, contact, contact.


End file.
